Arctic Failings
by Shizuka no Taisho
Summary: Pitch closed his eyes, clutching the sand. No. He was alone. Just like Jack. Cold and dark were a powerful force, but Jack had set their fate. They were enemies, fighters, warriors on a battlefield of anguish and pain. If it came down to it….he'd do whatever it took to protect his vision.


The bitter arctic clung to his skin, frosting the grey with magical spirals. Pitch glared at them, brushing his sleeve. He didn't want a reminder of his failure. What could've been. Yet he remained in Antarctica, wandering the snowy plains as if they were his own personal hell, every speck of ice a dagger that plunged straight through his soul. He had the Guardians to take care of, his Nightmares to ready…..but the look on Jack's face seemed etched into his mind. His words on repeat, stinging, as if Pitch had been dunked in the glacial waters below. He couldn't forget them. They were a personal rejection, and worse—a failure. He'd been so close! Jack had been desperate after the Guardian's rejection, suffering the cruel bite of loneliness. It was a feeling Pitch knew well. He'd offered him companionship, a world where all knew their name, and all believed. But the fear. Jack and he had much in common, yet the time with the Guardians had brought out the frostling's selflessness. He wouldn't accept his offer. Couldn't, for a world bred in fear wasn't what he wanted. Damn. Had Pitch just—! Had he—

Golden eyes slit, bright with irritation. There was no point dwelling on could've been's. His failure was long in coming. Antarctica had been the first time he'd extended a hand of friendship to Jack, but it wasn't the first time his path had crossed with the frost spirit. Not at all. He'd been aware of the boy when Jack had first fallen through the ice, condemned to his watery grave. He'd been brave, yet his mocha eyes were wide with panic. And fear. That delicious, intoxicating fear. Pitch could've sensed it a world away. Jack might as well have been screaming as he fell into the watery depths, the life drowned within him, stripping the very air from his lungs. The fear…it was enriching. Delicious. The very sort his nightmares craved. But then it'd changed. The ice had cracked, delicate spirals whirling through the wind, and out of the black, shadowed waters Jack had floated, limp, staring into the sky with eyes that held no fear, but were brimming with wonder. Revolting, misguided wonder.

For that, Pitch had abandoned him to his supposed joy, leaving a laughing Jack Frost to skate around the frozen pool. There was nothing for him there. Jack was useless to him. He could never understand.

How wrong he'd been. Three hundred years. Three hundred years had passed before Pitch saw Jack again, and Jack….he'd spent it all alone. There was no one. He'd never had a friend, or anyone to show him the ways of the world. And not one person saw him, in all that time. He was as invisible to children as…Pitch himself. The Boogeyman was but a fairy tale, but Jack Frost? His name was a saying. It held no true meaning. Pitch could well imagine the sort of agony Jack had endured. The same pain lingered within, stirring every time a child walked through him, or his name was envoked, then followed by laughter. He marveled that through all those lonely years Jack had managed to keep his spirit. His center, as North so aptly put it. But even that was common ground between them. Jack's fun had always held a trace of mischief. With the right coercion, Pitch knew he could've used it. The world would've quaked beneath their might, and neither him or Jack would ever be alone again. They could've had each other, shadows and snow a balm for the aching loneliness.

Yet it wasn't meant to be. He'd failed not once, but twice. He'd left Jack by the pond, abandoned him to his fate, and then he'd miscarried his one chance to truly understand Jack, what he needed. His petulance and anger cost him an ally, but, more importantly….it'd cost Pitch a companion. The only one who could ever understand him. The one who could act as a perfect balance to his dark, and with it create a world where everything, everything was—!

"Pitch Black."

Growling, Pitch tasted the two words on his tongue. They were cruel, reminiscent of Jack's mistrust. He couldn't imagine them without hearing the spirit's voice, the look in his eyes. Raw need, combined with a pure yearning Pitch knew well. He'd never imagined anyone else could know what it felt like, and then Jack….Jack knew. He could relate. Together, there was nothing they couldn't do. Nothing! Had he just been patient, set aside his own eagerness and drawn Jack in, given him the time he needed—

They could've been great. A perfect pair. Wiping his sleeve of the ice that so stubbornly clung to the textured black, Pitch looked at the sky, teeth grit as snow started to fall. Flakes dusted his cheek, forehead, refusing to melt. He touched one with the pad of his finger, then smeared it clean, calling his black sand to himself. He'd spent far too long in this snowy hell already. His thoughts of Jack and what might've been were painful, and he didn't have time for them. It was over. He'd once again deserted the frost spirit, even broken his staff! There was no hope for them now. Jack Frost was powerless, and useless to his cause. And even if he weren't, Jack wouldn't join him. Pitch closed his eyes, clutching the sand. No. He was alone. Just like Jack. But the children of the world were going to believe in him, no matter what lengths he had to reach for. If it meant crushing Jack, taking on the fight alone, then he'd do it. No matter his other yearnings.

Black sand shrouded his vision, whirling fast. Pitch laughed, bitter, and vanished within it, leaving Antarctica to its cold, lonely state. Leaving Jack within the ice. He wanted to be alone, so Pitch had granted his wish. Now he would fulfill his own. Somewhere across the world, there were Guardians to defeat. For too long they'd been believed in. It was his turn now. And he'd do it, leaving the ice to wallow in its pathetic misery. Cold and dark were a powerful force, but Jack had set their fate. They were enemies, fighters, warriors on a battlefield of anguish and pain. If it came down to it….he'd do whatever it took to protect his vision.

Jack would understand. Or perhaps Pitch was only dreaming.


End file.
